Low
by Insideavoice
Summary: And he thought nothing could be worse than the time he got pantsed at prom. Rambling thoughts from Jews and Chinese Food.


**Author's Note: I'm afraid this doesn't make any sense.**

And he thought nothing could be worse than the time he got pantsed on prom night. Pantsed, not in the good _awesome_ way, the kind of his wildest fantasies involving –

But no. Alert the press. He's reached an all time low. He thought that acceptance into Yale would be the sudden upturn – the start of something new. A break from his whole string of bad luck that's been tied to him ever since he sat in the sandbox at 18 months and had that god awful lollipop stuck to his diaper until the next morning. (His mother still has the pictures to prove it.)

Andbutso he hoped that Yale was his shot to not be that kid, the one you look at – squint at, really, with your head at a vaguely particular angle and have to wonder, "Does he even _go_ here?" The principal couldn't even pronounce his name correctly when he crossed the stage to get his high school diploma. Still, he could see his mom smile through wet eyes in the crowd, so he smiled, too. She, at least, didn't know about prom night.

Nor does she know that here, since freshman year, he'll forever be known as "naked guy." (Like that random dude from _Friends_ but without the "ugly" added on …which he guesses he should feel the slightest bit grateful for.) But still, the unwanted nickname is all because he can't even drink right. So, that's what he gets for not learning to party with the jocks and preps in high school.

But even that, he thought, he _hoped,_ was behind him. He met Rory, didn't he? – however embarrassingly through that awkward initial encounter. And she was funny and sweet and as embarrassed as he was. She gave him her bathrobe and they could laugh about it now.

But no, not now – not anymore. He doesn't know why he bothered to talk about… that _thing_ that's been bugging him for quite some time now. He _knows _she likes Logan, the ass. He could see it in the way the prick tucked her hair behind her ear at dinner in that stupid restaurant – her smile at the casual show of it all. Marty couldn't finish his food. He thought he was going to be sick when he learned the meal he couldn't even finish cost him seventy-five bucks. Like he has that kind of cash right now. Or ever.

But no, getting pantsed at prom in front of Sarah Whitecastle and all her pretty little friends by none other than that Neanderthal Mick Honesdale wasn't even his lowest point. Standing – freezing – outside that night on the cold pavement with no money to pay that stupid _stupid _dinner off – with Rory coming outside, her eyes full of something that resembled pity – _that_ was pretty low, even by Marty's standards.

He promised to pay her back, and with the money from next weekend's job, he will. He's just afraid he's losing something every time he has to crawl his way out from the messes he always manages to get himself into – something of himself. He thinks, perhaps, the word rhymes with shmignity. Yes, he doesn't have much of that left. That is, if he ever had any at all.

He doesn't even know what he'll say when his mother calls next Sunday.

"Marty, dear." He can already hear her voice in his ear. "I'm just so proud of you." And she'll breathe her smile-sigh, too, through the phone, half a country away. "Attending Yale… my boy…"

And yet, he doesn't feel like he has too much to be proud of anymore.

_Stupid idiot pants. Stupid dinner. Stupid prick. Stupid girl._

But Marty knows he's not mad at Rory. So… she's falling for a douchey rich guy? At least she can admit she doesn't know _why_ exactly she likes Logan.

Marty can hazard a guess, though. It's falling for something you've never had before in your life. The illusion, so close, you can't help it. He knows, because he feels the same way about her. He's never had a girl smile so brightly when she handed over something as odd and arbitrary as her bathrobe. Hell, he's never been given something like that before… (Does he need to tack on an "obviously"?) …The scent of which was something like citrus shampoo and a dash of vanilla.

And so… she's after that pretty boy/rich kid fantasy while he's just happy to memorize the scent of her, have her feet in his lap as she falls asleep on the couch with their old favorite show running on the TV late into the night.

He realizes with an unknown overwhelming force that this, right here – being just friends with a platonic Rory – has led him to yet another low point in his life. But he knows he's so far down he couldn't even tell the difference between the light of her face and the light of day – even if he tried.

It's something Marty isn't proud of, but he knows he'll be back as he trudges up the stairs, away from her for just one night at least.

And he thought nothing could be worse than the time he got pantsed on prom night.


End file.
